My psychiatrist often tells me what grief is like a tide, that ebbs and flows and sometimes crashes down like a tidal wave. That has been very true for me recently. I often pen these little missives in my head for this blog and find myself tearing up. So I try to think of other things.

I miss him. I miss his strong arms and his steady embrace. I miss the low timber of his voice, and the feel of his beard on my chin when we kissed. I miss how he would kiss the top of my head, and would be there to squish spiders at my request. He would always play with our cat and lay his head on him calling him a "Rumble Pillow." That used to annoy the heck out of me but now I find myself missing it. He was so smart, so steady and calm. He was my first and thus far only real love.

I miss his family, my neurotic niece and sweet nephew. His charmingly manic mother and her distant new husband. I even miss their chaotic family gatherings which normally ended with us driving home early complaining to each other about how his brother is raising his children. I miss over the top dinners, complete with fancy napkins and extravagant deserts.

I miss waking him up repeatedly in the morning, because he was never good at getting up on his own. The smell of his coffee, his skin and his breath tinged with gum and cigarettes. Mindless watching of Modern Marvels or Pro Wrasslin because that was what he wanted to watch.

I enjoy this newfound freedom to do the things I want, but sometimes I wonder if it is too high of a price to pay. Sure, I can now drink starbucks as much as I want, have nobody to answer too but myself, only pick up after myself, eat what I want to eat and watch what I want to watch. I have nobody to pinch my love handles and tell me to go to a gym. I am not treated like I am an idiot, and none save my overbearing sister makes me feel inferior. I am not told that I am unattractive, and have nobody to reject me.

I cry a lot less, and have less panic attacks. Yet, when I think of this as a comfort I am reminded that for the first few years of our marriage and our long relationship before hand that was never a problem. Anxiety issues, yes. Bouts of overwhelming hysteria related to his emotional cheating? No.

The next time someone tries to comfort me by blindly saying "It will get better, this is for the best. " Will mentally be punched in the face. Fair warning!

This mindless babble was brought to you by Addiecakes, the kitty who has fallen asleep on my foot and the number Seven.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

During the time that he was having his affair, I used to have a very violent and disturbing dream. I would confront her in the bathroom at a party, armed with a baseball bat. I would continue to scream at her to leave my husband alone and beat her into a bloody pulp. I never considered myself to be a violent person, so this terrified me.

It was graphic, and in some ways terribly satisfying. I was unable to do anything to stop her. My confronting her didn't do anything but drive a larger wedge between me and my husband. Texting her, calling her..nothing made a difference. It felt like I was fighting him as much as I was fighting her.

I mention this because I have begun to have bad dreams again. Three nights in a row now. The first one was confronting him about the dissolution of our relationship. Screaming at him if it was worth it. If he was happy now, having thrown me away. In my dream he said that the sex with her was worth it. He even had a daughter, but with a former girlfriend from our high school years.

When I awoke, I was a mess. I just rolled myself into a ball and cried, my heart pounding in my chest. I miss him. I really, really miss him. I miss the good things about him, the way he used to make me feel. Before all this, before she came into the picture and refused to leave. It's not fucking fair.

I hate how the subconcious brings things to the surface like this. Just when I think I am making progress.